


The Unofficial Duties Of Captain Agathon

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: bsg_pornbattle, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-04
Updated: 2009-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, the laundry was clean."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unofficial Duties Of Captain Agathon

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 2.20 "Lay Down Your Burdens"  
> A/N: Originally written for [**bsg_pornbattle**](http://community.livejournal.com/bsg_pornbattle/) the Second. The prompt was "warm laundry".  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Helo shoulders open the hatch. The basket of clean laundry in his hands smells good, sure, but it makes it hard to get anywhere. He bumps the heavy door closed, almost dropping the basket, and then almost drops it again at the sight of his very naked wife bent over next to the bed.

"Sharon? What are you doing?"

"Oh, hey, you're back!" she says, smiling at him. "I was just stretching a little. All those hours in the cockpit, I'm stiff as a board." She saunters over to him. "And obviously, since you have been so derelict in your duties, I had nothing to wear."

"It's not like laundry's my official duty," he mutters. "I'm just a good guy."

"Yeah," she says. "You really are. Now take off your clothes."

He hefts the basket. "No, I gotta fulfill my duties and fold these. Apparently."

She takes the basket from him and dumps the clothes on the bed. "Your marital duties supersede your other duties. Take your clothes off."

He grabs his tanks and starts to pull them off. Halfway up his chest, he pauses. "You know, I outrank you now."

"Not in bed, you don't," she says, watching him.

He inclines his head. "Point."

Her clever hands are working at his waistband before he has time to consider the matter further, and she's so gorgeous that he's hard for her. When he slides his hand between her thighs, she's wet already.

"Yoga, huh?" he says.

"Second best way to work those kinks out," she says, and he laughs and lifts her up. He loves that she's small: he can hold her in his arms as she wraps her legs around his hips, sliding down onto him. "Oh, baby."

"Yeah," he says. She reduces him to one-word sentences. He pushes his face against her neck, kissing her, as she rocks her hips slowly from side to side. He doesn't know if it's a Cylon thing or just a Sharon thing, but she's got a trick of squeezing her muscles around him so that even when he doesn't have any leverage, it still feels amazing. He slips an arm under her ass, giving her a little support so that she can slide up and down his length, grinding her hips into his pelvis.

"Sweet frakking asses of Kobol," he says.

"More," she says, her breasts rubbing against his chest. He's throbbing inside her; he could never deny her anything; it's even more true when she's all around him, like heaven, like salvation.

Distracted, he kneels on the bed, laying her down gently. The scent of her skin and the scent of the bedclothes are like perfume to him. She pulls him down on top of her, locking her thigh behind his, and he tucks his chin against her head. She walks ten feet tall, but under him in the bed, she's short enough to fit between his shoulders and his calves. He pushes into her and she cries out with pleasure, rocking back against him. He loves it when she swears, old Trojan curse words that no one ever uses. Her nails scratch him lightly, urging him on. He thrusts faster, both their skins slick with sweat so that she scrambles to keep their bodies lined up, her feet sliding against his legs, his arms shivering with the effort of holding himself over her. She moans, louder and louder, until her body stills and then trembles like she's touched a live wire. The electric energy of her orgasm sizzles through him and he cranes his head to look into her eyes.

"Sweet frakking lords, _Sharon_," he says, the world shaking to pieces around him just like it did the first time, just like it's done every time.

They collapse together, sweating and gasping. Helo is flattened by pleasure, laid out the length of their rack. It feels strange, though; the texture of the blankets under him is all wrong, lumpy and strange. He opens one eye and casts a glance down their gleaming bodies.

"Oh, frak," he says. "Well, the laundry _was_ clean."

"Get on that, Captain Agathon," she says, and snickers.


End file.
